Reality Hurts
by brandy1119
Summary: Sometimes, Its hard to know whether the truth is really better than the fake, perfect world that I'd created. Because reality hurts.


**Here is a new story I wrote. I hope you like it, and if you do I may continue it. This is Glimmer, by the way. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games. **

_Sometimes I wish for fallingWish for the releaseWish for falling through the airTo give me some reliefBecause falling's not the problemWhen I'm falling I'm in peaceIt's only when I hit the groundIt causes all the grief_

_- "Falling" -Florence and the Machine_

I'm nothing special, really.

Sure, I'm beautiful, and wealthy. But that doesn't mean anything. My father always said that you can only truly be judged by what is inside of you.

"It's what's on the inside that counts, Glim." He had said. "So be strong, and brave, but most importantly, have good moral."

"Moral?" My little eight year old self repeated curiously.

"Be good, Glim. Do the right thing. It's hard in a world like this, but just remember to be good, okay? Remember for me, please." He had asked me. And in all of my young naivety, I had solemnly nodded yes. And I swore to myself that day that I would remember, for him.

I didn't remember, though.

My father was one of those quiet, intelligent types. In district 1, those types were hard to come by. My mother had been ridiculed for marrying such a man, but her reply was always,

"You can't help who you love." I wanted nothing more than to be like my father, and so I constantly followed in his shadow, watching and waiting. Waiting for me to feel more like him. But it never happened; I was too much like my mother.

His death changed everything.

It was just a regular day, when I got the news. I was ten at the time. I didn't really have many friends, even though I had the potential to if I put the effort in. But I was still trying so hard to be my father, and Iwas stuck in an in between zone where the boisterous, more popular kids were too loud and crazy for me, and the few smart, quiet ones were too loner-ish for my taste. Ironically, though, by not picking a group I had made myself a loner too.

An employee at the school had come to fetch me from lunch, telling me there was somebody waiting in the office. I looked at them silently for a moment, before quietly getting out of my seat. I did not want to draw attention to myself, so I skirted around the edges of the noisy lunchroom. When I arrived at the office, there stood a single peacekeeper. He looked out of place in his stark white uniform, but at the same time he belonged here. Like me, except the other way around. I blended in, but I didn't really belong here.

His stony gaze turned to me, and seeing who I was began,

"I'm sorry Miss Fletching, but I have some unfortunate news…" But I could see in his emotionless eyes he wasn't sorry, and I grew cold.

Cold, just like my dead father.

A heart attack had been the death of my father. A_ heart attack_. In all of the capitol's shining glory, they couldn't save my father from something as simple as a _heart attack_. I hated it.

I hated fate.

I hated the capitol.

I hated _everything. _

And even though I was a raging sea of hate and anger, I had never once in my ten year old mind considered that maybe his death was something more. I didn't doubt one single time, until that night.

I add lived in a grand mansion my whole entire life as an only child, but it wasn't until after his death that I noticed just how much extra space we had. His presence somehow occupied the extra space. Or maybe, we all did, but only when we were a family. A whole. But now, a crucial piece was missing, and my mother and I were missing a piece of ourselves too.

My mother and I are a lot alike, so I when I thought my father died, we would have at least somewhat similar reactions. Maybe we could even comfort each other in our grief.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Nothing changed. Nothing at all. My mother went around her business like she always had, making breakfast and dinner, cleaning the house, tending to the garden, doing laundry. The only difference I could notice was that she now had a chilling grin always plastered on her face. _Always._

I avoided her as much as possible, scared and frankly creeped out by her reaction. She was as distant as could be, hiding within the realms of her mind. But she still continued to work. And I couldn't take it anymore.

She had been in the middle of loading the dishes when I finally broke.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You act like everything is all fine and dandy, when we both know it's not!" I screamed at her. She didn't flinch at all, and just continued drying the spoon she had in her hand. "Are you even fucking listening to me?" I screamed again. She just looked up with the same distant eyes and smile. Always the smile.

"Language, Glimmer." She murmured, and that was all. I don't know if it was because her voice still had its annoying perkiness, or her wide grin, or maybe even the fact that she somehow felt the need to reprimand my manners despite the situation, but before I knew it I was screaming accusations and curses at her. She didn't say anything, but I did notice that her expression grew a bit more strained. It wasn't until I had collapsed against the counter with my head clutched in my hands that I really got a reaction out of her.

"I thought you really loved him. I guess not." I had said more to myself then to her, but instantly her smile dropped and instead the face of a tortured soul took its place.

"You don't get it. You just don't get it." She whispered fiercely at the spoon that she was still working on, even though it was sparkling clean long before. I wasn't sure if I should respond, or if she was even talking to me. "If only you knew how, then you would really understand."

"What do you mean? Dad died of a heart attack." I said uncertainly, not sure if that was even what she was talking about. She suddenly looked up at me, as if just realizing I was there. And then she started laughing.

It was a haunting, humorless laugh that shook me to the core.

"Oh, Is- Is that what they told you?" She managed to get out. I just stared back at her, wide-eyed. After she had recovered for the most part, she gave me a pitying look. "Come on, tell me you don't believe _that _Glimmer. I raised you better than that." I wanted to say something snippy back, like _my father raised me, not you_, but I was too shocked by what she was hinting at. Instead, I just asked in a quivery voice,

"What- What do you mean?" My mother's eyes turned at once from sad to angry and hateful, a look I knew well, and spit out,

"_They _killed him."

"Who?" I prompted quietly. Her gaze grew unfocused as she glared furiously at something only her eyes could see.

"Them. The capitol." She finally answered after a long pause . I breathed in sharply, stunned by the audacity of her accusation.

"Wh-why?" I whispered. Then came the tears. The tears my mother had been holding back this whole entire time. She started sobbing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth on the floor where she had collapsed a few moments before.

"He was too good. Too-too good for a horrible world like this." She wailed. I couldn't move. I was glued to the floor. "He stood out, he was too- too-" My mother broke off, unable to finish. All at once I found my limbs and was able to cross over to where she was and hug and comfort her like I had always imagined us doing. Except, I was supposed to be the one sobbing, but this worked too I guess.

"Too good, I know." I finish for her. And that one night, we spent in each other's arms, whispering comforting words.

But it didn't last.

The next day I awoke from my first fitful sleep in a longtime the smell of bacon. As I walked into the kitchen, instead of seeing the mother I knew from last night; the one that had sobbed in my arms, and then let me sob in hers, I saw her again. Everything was back to the way it was before. The same distant look. The same chilling smile. It was as if nothing had even happened last night.

I took one good look at this new, shell of a woman that I barely knew, and fled the room. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out the front door, and just ran. Wherever my legs could take me. Someone shouted my name, but I didn't stop. I just ran. Soon, I could hardly notice the burning in my legs and lungs. Soon, it was just me and the sound of my breathing. The more I focused on my breathes, the more they consumed my thoughts, until I couldn't hear anything except for the whooshing of air. In. Out. That's all life was, really. Air. Without it, there wouldn't be life. Something that you don't really pay attention to, but nonetheless is vital. Like me. Except I'm not vital.

And then, all at once, it comes back. My legs are on fire, and the stitch in my side is killing me. I can't believe I didn't notice it before. My mouth is parched and my first thought is water. I need water. I looked around me, but it soon became obvious I had no clue where I was. All I knew was that if I stood up for any longer, I would collapse.

On further inspection, I actually did recognize where I was. I was on the opposite side of the lake from my school. _How the heck did I manage to run here_? I wonder silently. I look around for a bench, but there isn't one near here, and I don't think I could walk any farther if my life depended on it. So I decide to sit down right therein the grass. I gaze out across the lake at my side of District 1. From here, it just looks like a bunch of over extravagant houses. Unfortunately, this only occupies my thoughts for a while before I am forced to let my mind wander to something else. Naturally, I think of my father. I wondered, if this was any other regular day, if he would have gone running with me. Maybe not; he wasn't really the running type, but I do know he appreciated a good view, so maybe.

I think of my mother. My crazy, grinning mother. I realize now what she's doing. It's not that she doesn't feel the pain of my father's death; it's that she can't handle it. So instead, she has found a way to block it all out.

And I know in my heart that I can't handle the pain either. How long before I'm like her? A shell with a smile permanently painted on, feeling nothing, doing nothing, and in the end, being nothing? This though terrifies me.

No. I won't do it. I won't be crazy. I will be perfect, and live a perfect life. Yes, this is what I must do. The only to avoid turning out like my mother is to be the complete opposite; be perfect. But how can I be perfect?

Another building across the lake catches me attention. It is one of the larger ones, with a high roof and is located directly across the street from the school. The training center for careers. Of course, it's called the After School Physical Fitness Center, but what after school facility would have weapons galore? I can see now that this is what I must do; become a career.

It's a win-win situation really. I win the Hunger Games- I win. I get killed in the Hunger Games- I still win. Because at this point, I'm starting to feel a little suicidal. No, perfect people don't think that, I tell myself. I will win the Hunger Games.

And just like that, I have already started to paint my shell. But instead of painting a mask with dull eyes and a grin, I'm painting a girl that's perfect. And no matter how many people I may fool, some quiet part of me knows that I can never truly fool myself.

A blur. That's what my life is from then on. Days fade into one and I feel as if I'm caught in a meaningless dream that just repeats itself, over and over.

But don't get me wrong, it's still a perfect. I've made sure it is.

Perfect grades. Perfect clothing, perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect boyfriend, perfect _life_. But I'm not living. I am just a shell, like my mother.

Wait- what am I thinking? A perfect girl wouldn't think _that_.

_You are perfect. You are perfect. You. Are. Perfect. _I chant in my head. This seems to happen a lot. I'll be doing ordinary things, like walking my dog, or studying for a test, and something will remind me of him. Then, like a chain reaction, my shell well crack, revealing the broken, fatherless girl inside. I will have to remind myself what I am now; _who _I am now.

_You are perfect. _

And by the time I am sixteen, I completely and utterly believe it.

Only once since then have I allowed myself to be the slightest bit imperfect.

I was seventeen, and my trainer at the Training Center had spoken with Cashmere, and it was decided that this reaping I was to volunteer. I had only a month or so now, and I was training harder than ever. I had already broken up with my boyfriend, (after all, wouldn't a perfect girl going to fight to the death want her love to move on?), and was currently on a eight-mile run to help build endurance when I saw it. The small line at the justice building for tesserae . Not many people in our district needed it, and considering we were one of the wealthiest families in the district, never had I once even thought about it. But now, I found myself slowly walking towards the dwindling line.

No matter how perfect I was, I couldn't push away my dislike for the capitol ever since that one night where my mother had mentioned it in her crazy rant. I knew what I had to do. It was clever, really. If I was going to volunteer for the games anyways, why not take something, _anything_, from the capitol while I still could?

"Name please?" The monotone voice of the peacekeeper registering the tesserae asked.

"Glimmer Fletching." I responded with a slightly sarcastic perkiness in my voice.

"How many?"

"Oh gee, I don't know… I pretend to think for a moment. "I guess a hundred will do."

"_Glimmer Fletching!"_ I strode confidently up to the stage. I'm not surprised, really. At least this will save me the trouble of volunteering. I stand there, smiling like my mother to the cameras as the boy tribute is announced. Marvel something-or-another. I vaguely recall him being one of my ex boyfriend's friends. I'm not really sure though. The sun is brighter than I can remember it ever being. Haven't I been smiling long enough? Aren't we supposed to go say goodbye to our families? Will my mom say good bye to me? Will my da-

My smile drops for only a second as I inhale sharply.

But then it's back on, and just in time for me and Marvel to shake hands as the crowds cheer us towards our deaths.

It's all a blur again. There are cameras, instructions, lots of fancy clothing, and smiling. So much smiling. How did my mother ever manage to keep smiling all of this time? I hear my name being called everywhere. They all want a piece of me. Glimmer- the stunning beauty. Glimmer- the girl who has everything. Glimmer- the perfect girl.

And then I'm in the arena. I can see that my whole entire alliance is on edge, no matter what we are doing. Waiting for night, sleeping, hunting for tributes, eating. We- they, are always alert. Watching and Waiting. Waiting and Watching. Like I used to watch my dad.

Pain explodes all over me. But strangely, it fades almost just as fast. Am I dying? I figure I must be. Then why is somebody walking toward me? What was it about trackerjackers my trainer had said? I rack my brain for an answer, but I can only indistinctly recall something about hallucinations.

The figure walks closer and closer, until I see it is my dad. He is gazing at me with a sad smile.

"Da-dad?" I manage to choke out. He just slowly nods, and now he is right next to me. I could almost touch him, if only I could move.

I expect him to say something about missing me, or how much he loves me, like I wanted so badly to say to him. But the next words out of his mouth silence me forever.

"_Just remember to be good, okay? Remember for me, please." _

But I hadn't remembered. And as death came to claim me, I finally let my shell go. And at that point, I wasn't sure if the truth was any better then the fake, perfect world I had created.

Because reality hurt.

The dark brought numbing relief, and as the pain went away, so did my not-so perfect world.

**Tell me if you like it, I may do all twenty four, or I may just keep it a one-shot.**


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